


hallelujah

by a_static_world



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AKA Merlin Loses His Shit, Arthur Pendragon Has Feelings, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Merlin Has Specific Tells and Arthur Knows What They Are, Oblivious Arthur, POV Arthur, Stress Relief, They Kiss Because I Say So
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_static_world/pseuds/a_static_world
Summary: “Merlin-”“No! Fuck this! Fuck you! I’m done. I’ve gotta- I gotta go to bed. Fuck all of this! Fuck people! Fuck destiny! I’m… two sides… coin… my ass.”The tirade fades away as Merlin backs out the door, leaving Arthur concerned and bewildered in his wake. Destiny? Coins? God, the stress has really gotten to them this season.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 435





	hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> guess who's back on their merlin bullshit :)

Merlin, god damn him, has the ever-so-annoying trait of being permanently upbeat. Waking Arthur in the morning with a grin and a cold cup of tea, bruised and bloodied from a bandit attack, mocking councillors behind their backs. No matter what, he seems happy, or at the very least even-keeled.

And it is god damn  _ infuriating _ . The man possesses boundless patience, a gift Arthur admires and loathes in equal turns. The only way to tell Merlin’s reaching his near-impossible limit is when he starts swapping  _ Arthur _ or  _ dollophead _ for  _ Sire _ and _ your highness _ . Which is when Arthur knows to back off, lighten his load for a day or two. Never too long, though. Wouldn’t want Merlin to start thinking he gets preferential treatment.

(He does, of course, because he’s the dearest thing to Arthur, though he’d never even consider voicing it.)

There comes a season, every summer, when the castle grows busier. Nobles come for the court, the cotillions and balls Arthur is expected to hold. Every room in the castle fills up and god, the rooming charts alone make him glad he’s not a servant. This lady cannot be roomed next to that because her husband is easily distracted, and this nobleman requires a certain type of bedsheet or else he breaks out in hives.

Merlin, of course, has all of these details memorized, even though he’s technically only Arthur’s servant. At this point, though, he runs more of the castle than Arthur does, especially when the ample space grows crowded and you can’t walk from courtyard to throne room without stepping on toes left and right. Coincidentally, this is when Arthur becomes “Arthur” less and “Sire” more, simply because Merlin is overworked and too tired to code-switch at the end of the day.

Arthur tries to give leniency during these months. He’ll delegate his laundry and armor duties to Geoffrey or another servant, have someone bring up two people’s worth of supper because god only knows how often Merlin remembers to eat. It’s the least he can do, he knows, but he hopes it’s enough. Sometimes Merlin will fall asleep at the table, and Arthur savors it. It feels like peeking behind the veil, watching the worry and irritation slip away in sleep. Without it, he remembers how young Merlin is. Only two years younger than himself, mind you, but it’s enough to make it feel like an eon. Arthur sometimes gets the feeling that Merlin carries just as much weight on his shoulders as he does, and only by sleeping can he put it down. But then Merlin wakes, and teases Arthur about one thing or another before heading back to his rooms. 

This summer things are especially tense. Half of the ladies seem to have had babies since last summer, and the castle fills with an inordinate amount of wailing. Many of the servants take to stuffing scraps of waxed cloth in their ears, and Arthur wishes he could join them. Who knew babies cried so much? Well, their mothers, clearly, if haggard faces hidden under a pile of powder tell him anything. They look about as tired as Merlin, and for a second the unbidden, sacred thought of Merlin with a _baby_ flashes across his eyes. _Damn it, Arthur, you’re in the middle of a council meeting._ _Don’t look at Merlin_.

He looks anyway, and Merlin’s answering eye-roll is all the justification he needs.

With all the babies, there’s an extra lack of servants. Arthur finds himself relying more and more on Merlin for his regular tasks, all too aware of the fact that Merlin’s got half the castle on his shoulders. Shoulders that seem to be approaching his ears with an alarming pace, quite frankly. Merlin never eats more than a few bites of their dinners, and the worry line between his eyebrows has deepened into something akin to a chasm. “Arthur” once again becomes “Sire.” 

It all comes to a rather unexpected head as the nobles begin to depart for the autumn season at their own estates. Arthur’s even sad to see a few of them go; the babies aren’t so bad when they’re not crying, and sometimes it’s nice to have a castle full of people. But as the nobles drain out, it seems like they take Merlin’s energy with them. His shoulders come crashing down from his ears, and Arthur’s  _ this  _ close to ordering a cot up to his room, for all the times Merlin falls asleep in the rickety wooden chair that he tips just a little too close to the fire for comfort.

It’s after one such dinner that Arthur takes it too far. They’re bantering about a particularly ugly baby, and Arthur gets up to crack a window as they lapse into a comfortable-enough silence. 

“Well, Merlin, now that everyone’s gone, I’ll expect you to be back bright and early tomorrow. My laundry has accumulated and my floors are in awful need of scrubbing, so none of this  _ lazing around _ you do when things get busy.”

Arthur’s joking, and to his knowledge he intoned it that way. Something, though, gets lost in translation, because as he turns back from the window Merlin looks fit to explode.

“Merlin-”

“No! Fuck this! Fuck you! I’m done. I’ve gotta- I gotta go to bed. Fuck all of this! Fuck people! Fuck destiny! I’m… two sides… coin… my _ass._ ”  
The tirade fades away as Merlin backs out the door, leaving Arthur concerned and bewildered in his wake. Destiny? Coins? God, the stress has really gotten to them this season. The undertone of relief in Merlin’s voice, though, sounded like a hallelujah. A release of all the pent-up everything, an exhale.

Sleep eludes him that night, Merlin’s tipped-over chair in the corner drawing his gaze again and again. So, eventually, predictably, he gives up on sleep and hunts Merlin down. He’s not in his rooms, which isn’t unusual. Arthur may have been a bit, ah,  _ zealous _ , in the allocation of Merlin’s rooms, which is to say Merlin’s got the closest thing to a royal suite that Arthur could give. Merlin, of course, hates it, and often falls asleep in random places throughout (and under) the castle. 

He’s not in Gaius’ rooms, though for some reason the physician is still awake. He directs Arthur to the kitchens, where Merlin sometimes can be found meal-prepping with the scullery maids or asleep by the fire. He’s not there, either, but this time Arthur knows exactly where to check. The bare stone of the throne room bites into his bare feet, but the chill disappears when he spots Merlin lying on the floor. He’d once told Arthur he liked the way the ceiling looked, and while Arthur had laughed, he’d never quite forgotten the way Merlin had said it.

Merlin doesn’t rise as he approaches, so Arthur lies next to him, wincing at the cold floor. He thinks maybe he should comment on it, ask if the other man is cold, but something in him says  _ shut up, Pendragon _ , so he lets the silence hang, ignores the way Merlin’s sleeve brushes his exposed arm with every breath.

“I’m sorry for what I said.”

Merlin rolls onto his side, and Arthur almost shivers again. They’re close, but it’s not like they haven’t been close before. The unspoken  _ whatever  _ settles into the crack between their bodies, and Arthur nearly aches with wanting. Nearly, because he likes to think he’s got some part of him left that’s not wholly in love with his manservant.

Slowly,  _ so _ fucking slowly, he rolls to face Merlin. Their noses almost brush, and at that point it’s simply a matter of who leans first. 

For once, it’s not Arthur. 

He lets Merlin lean in, lets Merlin kiss him first. Lets Merlin flip them, so his back is once again pressed to cold stone. This time, though, there’s a warm body on top of his. He kisses Merlin until he can’t anymore, until his lungs feel like they’re about to burst. Arthur breaks away first, panting, goosebumps erupting across his skin that aren’t from the chill of the flagstones. Merlin, the absolute bastard, isn’t even breathing hard. He’s merely smug, grinning down at Arthur with all the superiority he can muster. Merlin leans down, brushes his mouth against Arthur’s ear (unfair, as he’s still catching his breath).

“Imagine if your father were here.”

Arthur winces. God, his father’s probably spinning in his crypt. 

“Can we not talk about my father right now? I’d rather be spending my energies on  _ literally _ anything else.”

In a flash, Merlin is off him, extending a hand and grinning.

“Race you back to your rooms.”

**Author's Note:**

> HEY IM BACK  
> this could be a one-off! it could be the resurgence of my merlin phase! who knows!  
> i started writing this during the (first night) of the US election, and i literally had to go back and fix so much of the anger and frustration that bled through to make this happier. but hey,,,at least we have a mediocre white man who DOESN'T actively want to take my rights away for president!  
> as always, come visit me on [tumblr](https://astaticworld.tumblr.com/) for some extra Static in your life.  
> stay safe, keep wearing your masks, and make sure to hydrate!  
> <3 static


End file.
